Offsuit
by h.lovely
Summary: Trowa Barton gets more than he bargained for in the world of illicit gambling - "You look a little lost." "I'm here to speak with Kushrenada." The moment he'd spoken the words he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. The braided man gave him an appraising look, but the smirk on his lips didn't falter. "Well, we've all got to have some stupid ambitions in life, don't we?" - 2x3
1. Ante Up

**Disclaimer:** It probably goes without saying that, no, I do not own Gundam Wing. I only own the words I have written here.

As well, the image used for this story is in no way my own.

**Warnings:** AU. Rated for adult language, eventual violence, & eventual m/m sex. (At the moment this is rated T; I am predicting that it will go up to M eventually).

**A/N:** This is a side/pet project that has been milling about my thoughts a lot lately. It will not be interfering with updates to _Maxwell_ or _Bite Me,_ but is my first try at an AU style story. Loosely inspired by the movie _Runner, Runner _(go look it up if you're so inclined.) This will eventually involve some more explicit sexual scenes (that's something new for me as well) and I do appreciate any and all feedback as long as it is constructive.

Updates will come when they come, no promises on this one. So without further ado...Enjoy.

**Offsuit **- (_adjective_) - Of different [card] suits; as opposed to 'suited.'

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><p><strong>Offsuit<strong>

**Chapter 1: Ante Up**

To say that he was a gambler was an understatement. But isn't it true to say that everyone in this world is a gambler in some form or another?

Trowa Barton thought about the fifteen hundred dollars burning a hole in the pocket of his overpriced grey straight-leg slacks as he walked down a dimly lit street along a row of brownstones rented to irresponsible college students with the promise of trust-funds along with the proverbial silver spoon in their mouths. It often aggravated him to think that he himself resided in one of these exorbitant residences wearing name brand clothing he shouldn't be able to afford, but such was the life of the roommate of Quatre Winner.

The young blond was Waspy and came from old money yet somehow still managed to be one of the most down-to-earth people Trowa had ever known. Hence why he and the Statistics major were roommates, though the rent being paid upfront by his father didn't hurt either.

But, even with the added nicety of rent-free living, the weekly poker games Trowa attended off-campus didn't hurt with the inordinately large amount of tuition fees he owed to Sanq University. Fifteen hundred bucks in one night was nothing to sniff at, though it wasn't the biggest payout he had ever experienced, and the fact that he'd been able to take it off of some more experienced players, he was quite happy with the proceedings.

His bourbon toned Oxfords clipped as Trowa took each step upwards towards the brownstone's front door. He certainly dressed and looked the part of an overindulged scholar, and maybe that was due to the money he earned from gambling and maybe it came from the fact that he was overcompensating for the material things he couldn't afford when he was younger, but either way money had become somewhat of a necessity with him.

Just like gambling, the lifestyle seemed to become addictive quite easily. He studied alongside spoiled and money hungry socialites, trying to edge their way up in the world of finance by pawing at their father's billfold and calling in favors from their stepford mothers. He had to keep up, despite his desire to mock and ridicule, he still had to at least pretend to play the game. But still, no matter how much gambling, online or otherwise, he still found himself drowning when tuition was due.

When he opened the stain-glass plated front door, Trowa found Quatre sitting atop the leather couch resting in the center of their sparse living room, his laptop balancing on one pajama clad knee, a large textbook on the other, and a half empty glass of red wine in his right hand. The budding statistician looked up from his intensive studies with a tired smile.

"You're up late," Trowa observed, hanging up the leather jacket he'd been wearing in the small hallway coat closet. It was nearly two in the morning by now.

Quatre shrugged. "I've got a midterm next week, so I figured I'd get a head start. No time like the present, eh?"

Quatre was not known to be one of the extremely social silver-spoon brats that frequented the University. This was part of what made him so down-to-earth, but also made Trowa wonder if he'd never been taught _how_ to have fun. Always trying to impress his perpetually unimpressed father.

Trowa often thought that his friend might just need a push in the right direction. He pulled the wad of bills from his pocket and tossed them on the walnut coffee table in front of Quatre. "Wanna take a break?"

Quatre stared up at the taller man and took a long, thoughtful sip of his drink. Trowa knew what the answer would be, his roommate generally frowned upon his compulsion to gamble, but usually turned a blind eye as long as Trowa was smart about it. And usually Trowa was smart about it, but after the adrenaline high he had experienced less than an hour ago at being able to bluff and bait a group of much older and more experienced players, he was feeling particularly impulsive.

"You know how I feel about Meteor, Trowa." That was the response he knew Quatre would give. Not denying nor agreeing to anything, simply sending the ball back into Trowa's court.

He spoke, of course, in regards to Meteor Gaming, an online gambling site that had become popular both in the space colonies and on Earth, despite the fact that it was knowingly based out of the L2 Colony Cluster, an unruly district not affiliated with the Earth Sphere Unified Nation. But that's why it was so popular, wasn't it? People craved the taboo, the forbidden, and the illegal. And if they could kill two birds with one stone and get their fix of thrill through gambling on Meteor? Well, let's just say it was a very lucrative business.

Trowa quirked an eyebrow. "It's my money. What's wrong with having a bit of fun now and then, Winner?" He lowered his voice, bringing out that husky tone that always seemed to get him his way, not only with his friend, but with _anyone _he wanted something from. He was quite charismatic in an enigmatic, unfair sort of way.

Shaking his head, Quatre snorted at that, but Trowa knew he had already won. The blond drained the rest of his wine. "It may be your money, but it'll be my card number." Yet he was already changing gears, closing his text book and clicking a few keys on his laptop to bring up a site that he only visited when Trowa brought home a large sum of cash and used _that_ voice on him.

Trowa just sat down next to him and nudged the bills closer with a pointed look. Quatre smiled wryly and continued to type, entering in an encrypted passcode for Meteor Gaming. Though Trowa often enjoyed the thrill of online gaming, Quatre knew he'd been declined by countless credit card companies over the last several years and that's why, every so often, he bribed his roommate into fulfilling his desires. The blond man never seemed to lack throwaway money (probably like most of the players on Meteor) but what those other players didn't have was Trowa's skill.

"Three-tabling," Trowa instructed. He watched as the screen on Quatre's computer flashed to several frames of green, pixelated felt.

Quatre gave him a sidelong glance and Trowa shrugged. "You can't win unless you're willing to risk it all."

There was a sigh as if the blond man disapproved of the notion and Trowa's obvious impassivity towards throwing all his hard earned winnings back into the revolving pot of reckless gambling. However, he continued with the transaction of sorts and then both their mind's were immediately calculating odds and working strategies staring at the quick paced games with faceless opponents wasting away their morning in the same, addictive manner.

Within ten minutes Trowa, or Quatre rather, was up two hundred bucks and the adrenaline was kicking in again.

"I don't know how you can find entertainment in this," Quatre stated pouring the last of the wine into a glass and handing it to his roommate. He took a sip of his own glass watching the screen as Trowa raised. He had a pair of aces he was optimistically sure of.

Trowa's green eyes gleamed over the rim of the wine glass as he let the pungent liquid trickle across his tongue. He swallowed and smirked. "It's a game of strategy. You like chess don't you?"

"Yes, but in chess you can see your opponents hand."

"But isn't not knowing more exciting?"

Quatre rolled his eyes, smiling blandly at the comment. Trowa was one to bluff his way out of anything, not limited to the gambling he was so accustomed to. He'd even managed to bluff his way right into a friendship with Quatre. And strictly friends they would stay as the blond had quickly come to find out upon their initial meeting in the dorms their freshmen year. He still wasn't quite sure of his roommate, even now after all this time.

Trowa pointed towards the screen. "Here's a weak player. His starting bets and winning patterns indicate it clearly. Now do you understand the strategy I apply?"

Quatre snorted. "Finding chumps who don't know their way around a deck of cards?"

Ignoring the comment Trowa decided to pounce on the unsuspecting victim. He played a few hands and continued on with the same table, figuring his luck might have to run out sometime, but with the way his winnings kept going skywards, he wasn't going to risk stopping now.

Meanwhile Quatre had grown somewhat bored and was thumbing through his textbook, sipping meagerly at this drink, when a frustrated sigh from behind the laptop alerted him back towards the game he would never quite have an affinity, or desire, for.

Trowa squinted. "How the hell-?" he asked the computer vaguely through clenched teeth.

Quatre moved to glance at the tables over Trowa's shoulder. "What's going on?" His voice was a mere whisper of concern.

Trowa ignored him, hoping it was a fluke, and kept going. He studied his next cards. He called.

"Sonofabitch-how did you know to bet at that?" he growled at the screen. How on the earth had his opponent known that seven high was good? It couldn't have been luck, not twice, not if you were a _real_ poker player. No, if you're a real poker player there is no such thing as luck.

Trowa ran an uneasy hand through his long bangs nervously. He didn't get nervous, but that was the exact emotion running through his body right now. It only took ten minutes to bring his winnings back down to a number not even suitable for an initial buy-in.

"Trowa." His name sounded almost foreign as it poured powerfully out of Quatre's lips, tinged with frustration and unease.

His eyes flicked over his shoulder. "I'm good for it, you know that." He was never one to ask for money, the only thing he took from Quatre was his father's generous downpayment on their rent and maybe a bit of the man's innocence when they were drunk on a handful of occasions.

And Quatre knew he was good for it, this wasn't the first time he found himself in a position of debt to his roommate. But what Trowa needed was someone to stop him from wasting his money on a game that clearly had become unforgiving at this point.

Quatre knew he would never listen, but he had to try. "You need to end this, Trowa," he said, his voice as low as possible in hopes of incurring as much authority as possible. "It was fun for a while and now you'll just be throwing your savings away."

Trowa looked at him, damn near studied him for a brief and silent moment before answering. "To be honest with you, Quatre, I don't think my savings are doing me much good sitting in my bank account. At this point I still can't afford tuition and it's due next week."

There was another silence and this time Quatre was the one doing the studying. He watched as the embarrassment that had sparked in Trowa's eyes at the admittance slowly drained back out and again they were cold and almost lifeless like usual. "Trowa, if you need help-"

Trowa held up a firm hand. He didn't even need words to accompany the gesture as Quatre had heard them a thousand times before when he'd offered his assistance. The petite man sighed, collected the now two empty wine glasses that were resting on the coffee table and walked towards the kitchen, not bothering to give his permission, but knowing Trowa didn't need it at this point anyways. If he wanted to try out his twisted form of strategy and waste all of his money in one go, then so be it.

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><p>Trowa awoke to a small headache at the base of his skull, probably from lack of sleep and the fact that he'd been staring at a glowing computer screen for most of the early morning.<p>

He was still on the couch, still in his clothes from last night, now much more wrinkled than before, and he almost felt embarrassed for not having made it to his own bed. It wasn't as if he'd been out partying or whatever might cause someone to pass out in their living room.

And then he remembered what had caused him to disregard any logical thinking several hours before. No wonder he hadn't made it to his bed, he'd lost his entire net worth to some scumbag hustler on Meteor last night and he would be damned if he let himself actually enjoy a good night's sleep after such a royally stupid fuck up.

Slowly he sat up and arched his back until he felt the vertebrae pop. He stood and simultaneously stretched the taught muscles in his arms and legs; maybe sleeping on the couch had been a worse idea than he'd thought.

Trowa made his way to the brownstone's small kitchen, rubbing his eyes until he saw spots flash across the dark side of his lids. When he opened them again he found Quatre sitting at the bistro style table set up against the wall opposite their stainless steel refrigerator. He was staring intently at the laptop he'd begrudgingly lent Trowa last night and did not even flinch when his roommate entered his potential line of sight.

With a slight grimace Trowa found a plain, white mug from within a double-shelved cabinet and set to pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee. He figured Quatre would be mad, or maybe annoyed was a better way to put it, considering their conversation earlier that morning, but he'd hoped that the usually forgiving man wouldn't hold the grudge for too long. He was beginning to consider that he might be wrong about that now.

Trowa didn't bother with breakfast, just slinked towards the table and sat down quietly across from his blond counterpart, staring mindlessly into the dark brown beverage he was getting ready to consume.

"You were fucking cheated."

The words, particularly the crass curse word, seemed completely foreign to Trowa's ears as Quatre spoke, still not looking up from his computer screen. The taller man frowned, his brows pulling together in confusion as he glanced up at his roommate's squinting aqua blue eyes, the only part of the man not obscured by the technology separating them.

"Quatre?" he asked hesitantly, not really sure how to respond to the sudden outburst.

Finally the petite man looked up, silent for a moment as he registered the bemused look on Trowa's face. He smiled and then just as suddenly frowned, turning the computer sideways so that they could both view what he had been so fixated on.

"Look how far outside the normal win rates the players who beat you are," Quatre said. Trowa looked at the screen to see a bunch of black boxes with bright green text and numbers crawling across them. It took him a moment to realize that his roommate had hacked into Meteor's system to look at the games from last night. His games, the damn games he'd lost all of his savings in.

Trowa took a deep breath. "I was cheated." He repeated the statement, for some reason feeling the need to reconfirm what Quatre had already said a moment before. Maybe if _he_ said it out loud it wouldn't sound so foreign to him.

The statistician eyed him carefully; he could see the wheels turning in his usually stoic roommate's head. "Trowa?"

Fists clenching, Trowa's lips pursed as he felt the anger and disbelief he'd felt when he'd watched all of his money get taken right out from under him flow back into his tensed muscles. He wasn't one to outwardly display emotions, but in this moment he was clearly fucking pissed.

"I'm going to L2."

Quatre screwed up his brows, staring at his roommate with cautious incredulity. "You can't be serious, Trowa."

Trowa gave him a look that proved just how serious he was. "I've got to do _something_."

Shaking his head, Quatre could feel the anxiety welling up inside of him as he spoke. "You're just going to hop on a shuttle to an L2 Colony that isn't even remotely regulated by the ESUN? You have no money, they have no civil law out there, do you know how crazy that sounds?"

"You said it yourself, I have no money, so I'm not sure things can get much worse at this point," Trowa responded, pulling the laptop around to get a better look.

The blond frowned. "You're still alive, aren't you?"

Trowa rolled his eyes. "I'm not going there to be a threat, I'm going there to have a professional conversation in regards to Meteor's base of operations."

"Just because you're not a threat doesn't mean you can't still get killed," Quatre shot back, rolling his own eyes but for other reasons. Who knew that his roommate could be quite so stubborn. "You're really going to do this, aren't you?"

"I don't really have many other options." Trowa was now somewhat ignoring the man across from him, his slim fingers typing against the laptop's keys with determination.

Quatre hesitated, wanting to offer his help again, but then remembering just how poorly that had gone every other time he mentioned it. "How do you even know where to go? Who to speak to?"

There were a few more staccato types of the keyboard before Trowa responded, murmuring low under his breath as if he'd all but forgotten Quatre's presence. "Treize Kushrenanda." There was another pause and he finally looked up to meet pleading blue eyes. "L2-V08744. Wasn't hard to find. And thanks to you I've got all the numerical evidence right here."

Quatre immediately began to regret even looking into it. "I didn't hack into Meteor, a very illegal thing to do I might add, just so you could go gallivanting off to L2 and beg for you money back."

Trowa looked almost taken aback by the severity of his roommate's words, but his decision had already been made. "Quatre, you know I don't like asking for your assistance when it comes to money-"

Quatre closed his eyes and huffed a sigh of defeated annoyance. "How much?"

"Just enough to get me out there," Trowa said softly, realizing sourly that in actuality he'd been asking a lot more than he ever had of Quatre within just the last twelve hours.

Quatre nodded his consent, placing his hands atop the table top and intertwining his fingers, leaning towards his roommate. "Catherine is still paying off loans, why can't you do the same?" It was one last ditch effort to stave off the inevitable trip to L2.

Trowa felt his stomach tighten. Sure, his older sister had her share of school debts, but he knew that was not the only debt she harbored. Cathy had been the one to introduce him to the enticing world of online gambling.

"I'm not sure I'd even be granted a loan at this point," he muttered, shaking his head. His green eyes glowed the next time they made contact with the blond. "Don't worry about me. This isn't the first time I've had to argue for my money."

Quatre knew that to be true and he also knew that out of anyone, Trowa Barton could take care of himself. But L2 seemed so unpredictable with what he'd read about it in tabloids and investigative articles.

"Just promise me you won't do anything stupid," Quatre said softly, his fingers coming up to rest atop the laptop's screen and push it downwards in hopes of gathering Trowa's fullest attention.

The other man gazed towards him through a familiar curtain of golden bangs, a hint of something, maybe affection or else amusement in his viridescent orbs.

His lips pursed into something akin to a smile. "I promise."

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><p><em>To be continued...in Chapter 2: Starry Eyed...<em>

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><p><strong>AN:** Let me know your thoughts, your predictions, your comments. Thank you for taking the time to leave a review.


	2. Starry Eyed

**Disclaimer:** It probably goes without saying that, no, I do not own Gundam Wing. I only own the words I have written here. The story is loosely inspired by the movie _Runner, Runner_ (and no, I do not own that either).

**Warnings:** AU. Rated for adult language, eventual violence, & eventual m/m sex. (At the moment this is rated T; I am predicting that it will go up to M eventually).

**A/N:** Thank you to any and all readers out there. As you might have guessed, this chapter was written while listening to the infectious song 'Starry Eyed' by Ellie Goulding. Reviews are greatly appreciated, so let me know how I'm doing so far if you're so inclined!

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><p><strong>Offsuit<strong>

**Chapter 2: Starry Eyed**

The flight to L2-V08744 was uneventful. Trowa held onto a battered and dogeared copy of _The Catcher in the Rye_ as he allowed his eyes to follow the blurring runway as the shuttle touched down on the unmonitored soil of the L2 colony.

He allowed his finger to slip from within the page he'd been reading and the book to close on his lap; he'd had all those hours of flying to get his thoughts in order and yet he'd simply immersed his mind in Holden Caulfield's stream-of-consciousness instead.

Trowa sighed and watched as the shuttle taxied to a stop, resulting in a bustle of commotion from the other passengers around him, eager to exit into a world of alluring vices and strangely appealing corruption. He was content to wait; though a knot in his stomach reminded him of his next task, he was in no hurry, the colony's night cycle wouldn't begin for another couple of hours.

When he finally disembarked from the cramped shuttle he was surprised that the temperature 'outside' on the colony was so warm. It was quite the opposite from the cooling, September weather back on Earth. He supposed it just added to the mock 'paradise' that L2 offered up its odd array of customers.

Hitching the canvas duffle he carried higher onto his shoulder, Trowa made his way inside and towards the area marked 'Customs.' When it was his turn and he showed the overweight, grizzly looking man sitting behind a chest height counter his ID and passport he eyed it as a poor excuse for a security checkpoint. The man barely glanced up at him, stamping the small book lazily before handing it back to Trowa without a word.

As Trowa stepped through a set of sliding glass doors into the colony's hustle and bustle, he could immediately sense the biting air of immorality around him. He felt eyes upon him as he made his way towards a ramshackle cab stand and he wondered vaguely if he should have forgone his perfectly pressed, name-brand jeans for something more stained and unnoticeable. He unfolded a pair of amber-tinted aviators and pushed them up the bridge of his nose in hopes of calling as little attention to himself as possible.

He could feel dewy sweat forming at the nape of his neck as he waited for the next cab to pull up and he thought that it seemed almost impossible for the space colony to acquire such a tropical climate as this. But he supposed the heat pushed people into the air conditioned buildings he now watched wiz by out the back window of the ride he'd acquired. He could only imagine what he'd find inside any number of those buildings: poker tables, blackjack, craps, slots, booze, drugs, women, it was a laundry list of vices.

Trowa was just glad that he had a specific reason for visiting the L2 colony; such vices might have been tempting had he visited for reasons of pleasure only.

He took a small, glass cellphone from his pocket and typed in a passcode before finding Quatre's number. The message was short and concise, just letting his roommate know that he had arrived safely. The blond had made him swear to keep him posted and Trowa had an unimaginably hard time denying him of at least that.

Trowa sighed and placed the phone back in his pocket when the cab pulled up abruptly in front of a hotel that struck him as extravagant, but seemed to be one of the least gaudy places they'd passed by. It's outer walls were constructed of gigantic obsidian colored panels that reflected the artificial sunshine provided by the colony, sparkling in the light provocatively.

Trowa paid his driver with some of the cash Quatre had stuffed into his hand before he'd exited his friend's car at the airport earlier that day and then entered through a set of impossibly tall front doors gilded in carved gold and the same obsidian as the rest of the grand structure.

The inside of the hotel proved to be just as impressive, if not more so. To his left and down several velvety, red steps laid a grand gaming room filled with the intoxicating sounds of slot machines, shuffling cards, and the scent of billowing cigar smoke. To his right was a large elevator bank holding ten shining elevator doors, the glowing green lights above them indicating that all the carriages were apparently resting on a multitude of different levels all the way up to fifty.

Trowa took a few more glances at his new surroundings before heading straight towards the lobby's grand front desk. His oxfords clicked against the cream colored marble floor as he made his way towards a friendly looking blond behind the reception area.

"How can I serve you today, sir?" she asked with a slight inclination in her voice that made Trowa's stomach tighten. It wouldn't have surprised him if there was an underlying meaning behind those words.

He set down his duffle. "I'm checking in. The reservation is under Barton."

She eyed him for a brief moment, her eyes lingering too long on the bit of tanned chest she could inevitably see peaking out from his crisp, lilac button down. "Yes, of course," she said, licking her lips. She typed something into the computer screen resting in front of her. "Barton...Trowa?"

He nodded affirmatively. "That's correct."

She smiled, her red tinted lips pulling up at the corners as she continued to type. After another moment she placed a coded room key atop the granite countertop between them. "Room 4501. If you need _anything_ during your stay with us, please, don't hesitate to ask," she offered, her voice turning husky.

Trowa took the room key with cautious fingers and watched as the woman leaned forward slightly, her smile never wavering, her eyes still wondering across his features appraisingly. He swallowed and nodded a mute thanks before picking up his bag and turning towards the elevator bank.

He walked away quickly, feeling uneasy by the obvious effect he'd unwittingly had on the woman. He was an attractive man, he wouldn't deny that, hell Quatre had told him so how many times over, but still, had he really done anything to warrant such grandiose affections? Maybe L2 was worse than he thought.

The elevator ride was quick and made Trowa's already uneasy stomach lurch slightly at the severe speed at which his body was taken upwards to the hotel's forty-fifth floor. When he arrived at his room and had closed the door behind him he immediately found the bathroom and turned the sink's faucet on full blast.

He splashed the cool water across his face, a portion of his overhanging bangs becoming damp, but he didn't care. Trowa began to think that maybe this trip hadn't been such a good idea after all. He was in some strange hotel, much too expensive for someone who was, for all intents and purposes, flat broke, with about fifty poker tables sitting forty-five floors below just calling his name.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and, after wiping his hands and face dry, he pulled it out. Quatre had messaged him back, giving his thanks that Trowa had held up his end of the bargain thus far. And then another message buzzed in, appearing directly below the last. It held an attachment and when Trowa clicked it open his eyes read over what appeared to be some sort of invitation to a private party at a local nightclub called Onyx.

He stared at the image for another moment before a soft smile graced his features. Trowa wondered if his good fortune was due to Quatre's connections as a Winner or else the expert hacking skills that he had apparently been hiding from his roommate the past several years.

Either way, he thanked his friend and went in search of an appropriate outfit for the 'event of the century' as the invitation so exuberantly put it. He had an obnoxiously hopeful feeling that his luck was about to change.

* * *

><p>By the time he'd showered, dressed, and eaten a quick meal in one of the hotel's less ostentatious restaurants, it was going on ten o'clock.<p>

Trowa stepped out of a cab in front of a building that reminded him of his own hotel, though not quite as metallic, the night air feeling thick with humidity. He smoothed down the front of his silvery-gray slacks and adjusted the glistening charcoal tie expertly knotted around the collar of his black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms due to the abnormal warmth of the colony. Dressing well made him feel desirable and confident and at this point he was going to take all the confidence he could get in regards to his upcoming endeavor.

He walked into the building, fingering the phone in his pocket that harbored the invitation to the private nightclub event. Upon walking across the dimly lit lobby he came to an elevator, its doors appearing to be made of some kind of dark slate, a sign hanging above it reading 'Onyx' in glittering plum toned script.

There was a bouncer, a man much larger and wider than Trowa's own lithe form, with an earpiece that clung to his ear, the spiraling clear chord trailing down his muscular neck. Trowa handed him his phone, the invitation brought up brightly on the screen. The security man eyed him for a brief moment before handing the phone back, forgoing asking for any ID, and then pressed a button on a panel next to the elevator.

After a second the doors slid open and Trowa stepped in; not a single word had been spoken during the exchange. He breathed out a sigh of relief as the doors closed before him and he checked his appearance in the mirrored walls of the carriage as it took him upwards to a fate uncertain.

When the elevator finally came to a halt Trowa resolved to head directly to the bar to acquire something, _anything_, to remove the edge from his nerves. As the doors slid open his senses were assaulted by a multitude of colored lights, reverberating music, and a general smokiness in the air.

Trowa made a beeline towards a circular bar stuck directly in the center of the dark lit club. As he slid past women in scantily clad dresses and the men ogling them he took in his surroundings with scrutinizing eyes. The nightclub was housed on the roof of the building he'd entered several moments before, the interior portion in which he was currently standing was cylindrical in shape, ensconced totally in glass, a dance floor surrounding the bar and small leather seating arrangements scattered throughout the impossibly loud room. Encircling the interior was an exterior balcony that appeared to be several yards deep in every direction, offering outdoor seating positioned around small fire-pits and a glorious view of the entire colony, lit up with a purple and golden glow across its nighttime expanses.

Finally making it to the bar, Trowa leaned a forearm against the white bar-top that glowed an iridescent blue under the club's black-lights. "Vodka. Neat." He ordered with simple precision, hoping not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself.

The bartender, a man with hair that Trowa could have sworn was died a luminous violet shade, handed him a heavy bottomed glass filled halfway with the cold, clear alcohol. He paid and told him to 'keep the change,' because he sure as hell wasn't going to stand around and wait for it; no, he had other things on his mind.

Trowa walked towards the outdoor patio, past a couple that was so deep into their make-out session they seemed to be asphyxiating themselves, when he first laid eyes on him.

The music changed to some skull pounding hypnotic beat, but he wasn't paying attention to that anymore. He walked further towards the patio, his vision never faltering, feeling a strange and unearthly pull as his body was now guiding his mind towards a man perched atop some sort of rattan footstool, his indigo eyes glowing in the flames licking up towards the metallic night sky above.

Long, chestnut tinged hair tied expertly back into a braid swayed just above his ass when he laughed. His body was toned and well taken care of, someone Trowa might have checked out at the gym on campus or jogging through the park, an athletic type, but not overly muscular. His lean legs were ensconced in tight, black jeans, a simple, white v-neck wrapping his upper body revealing an array of tattoos. A spiral of black stars wrapping his forearm and wrist, falling all the way down across his hand to his ring finger, a stylized cross bearing two angel's wings in its shadows adorning his opposite bicep, the hint of a colorful looking dragon peaking out across his chest through the deep 'v' of his shirt.

And there was just something about him, like he radiated _sex_.

By the time Trowa was done admiring the man he'd made it all the way out to the balcony railing. He ripped his vision away after another enthralling moment and chastised himself for acting so immaturely. It was like he'd never seen a good looking male before; shit, this wasn't his first rodeo in a place such as this. There were often extremely attractive men at his high stakes poker games, he just happened to be so focussed on winning all of their money that he hadn't taken much time to appreciate their outward appearances.

Trowa took a sip of his drink, allowing the cool, burning liquid to flow down his throat. He leaned against the railing looking out across the glowing city beneath him, the air not quite as thick at this height. He was just about to down the rest of his vodka when he noticed an unfamiliar movement out of his peripheral vision.

He turned to be met with the indigo eyes he'd just been admiring, a hint of knowing amusement in their flickering depths. For a brief moment he contemplated saying something to the man now unabashedly staring at him, but he couldn't find the words, so instead he just tipped his drink back and swallowed hard.

When his vision came back to meet the other man's eyes there was a tight little smirk accompanying them.

"Hey, green eyes. Haven't seen you around here before. You look a little lost."

Trowa stared back at him, his eyes lingering on those oddly smirking lips, wondering idly how they might feel wrapped around his- _fuck_, he needed to focus.

"I'm here to speak with Treize Kushrenada." The moment he'd spoken the words he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. This is why he should never drink, not even one drink; all it did was run his mouth and get him into trouble.

The braided man gave him an appraising look, but the smirk on his lips didn't falter. "Well, we've all got to have some stupid ambitions in life, don't we?"

Trowa felt the man's eyes boring into him as he looked away, back out across the city, unsure of what to say next. He thought for sure this man would call over the bouncers he'd passed by earlier and have him thrown out. He was being too brazen and ignorant for expecting things to just work out like he'd hoped. What a stupid, fucking idea this had been. He should have listened to Quatre, he should have never come here in the first place-

"I'll take you to him if you give me somethin' in return." The man was speaking to him again, this time the cynicism had left his voice, replaced with a low, husky whisper.

Trowa tensed, still incredibly bewildered by the presence before him. "And that would be?"

His mysterious companion inclined his head forward until their lips were only inches apart. Trowa held his breath at the close, near contact. He tried desperately not to let the nervousness he was feeling in his gut resonate on his expression as the man brought a hand up to rest congenially atop his shoulder, his cologne winding its way into Trowa's nose provocatively.

"The name's Duo Maxwell," he said, his voice nothing but a harsh whisper, just loud enough to be heard over the club's still booming music. "And I'd be very pleased to make _your_ acquaintance."

Trowa let out the breath he'd been holding and his voice hitched. The man, Duo, smirked and pulled back a few inches. Swallowing, Trowa's mouth finally began to work again. "Trowa Barton. It's a pleasure."

He was about to chastise himself for being so uncharacteristically awkward when Duo's smirk grew into a genuine smile. "Oh trust me," he said, his voice still low, but slightly less seductive. "The pleasure's all mine, Trowa."

Trowa decided instantly that he liked the way this enigmatic man said his name. He took a step back, trying unsuccessfully to distance himself from his new acquaintance. He took a deep breath, trying to gain some of his wits back. "Now your end of the bargain..._Duo?_"

He watched as Duo's eyes shined amidst the purple and blue strobe lights pouring out of the nightclub. The man licked his lips once, the pink of his tongue pulling at Trowa's thoughts again for a dangerous second. "Of course. Right this way."

Duo turned on the heel of his matte black boots. Trowa hesitated, wondering for a rare second why he should trust this man, but then found his body being propelled forward, following that swaying braid through the nightclub's eclectic crowd.

They walked around the balcony to the opposite end, near where Trowa had first entered on the interior. He watched past Duo's shoulder as they came upon a group of white, leather couches surrounding a rectangular fire-pit, dark stones glowing red against the heat of the flames dancing from within them.

Just as suddenly as they had begun their trek, Duo halted and Trowa almost found himself running into his taught back. The man turned and eyed him from the corner of those indigo eyes, a hint of warning in their depths that caused Trowa to tense.

Duo took a couple of steps forward, coming to stand next to the arm of the largest couch. Trowa followed cautiously, finally able to get his sites on who was lounging atop the leather piece of furniture.

Treize Kushrenada (because really, who else could it have been) was a formidable man, that much was immediately clear. His tawny hair was thick and piled atop his head in an old-fashioned style, the dark blue of his eyes mirrored with vigilance as if he was constantly on edge, even when 'kicking back' at his own private event. There was a general air of mistrust about him, like he could snap at any moment, and yet he was the most charming man Trowa had laid eyes on in a long while. The strangest feature had to be the forked eyebrows that rested above his slightly narrow eyes in a devilish manner.

Trowa couldn't help but stare and when Duo, the stranger he'd just unconventionally met, laid fingers against his wrist in a surprisingly calming action he shivered. It felt odd and yet he didn't flinch away like his mind instructed him to do.

After another silent moment, listening in on a conversation Treize was having with an ash-blond woman sitting to his left, the man finally looked up. First his eyes studied Trowa, causing the man to become even more stiff than he had been before, and then his gaze flicked to Duo, a sickeningly seductive smile wrapping his features.

"I see you've found a new _friend_, Maxwell," Treize stated, leaning towards them but not bothering to stand in greeting. His voice was tinged with something Trowa felt akin to condescending jealousy.

Trowa's vision drifted to the braided man standing several inches in front of him, watching as Duo's mouth pulled down at the corners for a brief moment before morphing back into that devious smirk he was becoming accustomed to.

"Trowa Barton meet Treize Kushrenada." Duo's eyes never left the navy blue of Treize's own as the introduction was made with a small wave of his hand.

Trowa felt that sense of unease he'd experienced upon arriving to the colony earlier that day. He took a step forward, paralleling himself with Duo, but the man's fingers were at his wrist again; another warning gesture.

Treize's gaze followed the seemingly intimate movement and his lips twitched, but he did not address whatever assumptions were probably rattling through his mind and Trowa was grateful of that.

"Mr. Barton," Treize nodded in causal greeting, his lips still pulled up in a patronizing smile. "What can I do for you?"

Trowa took a steadying breath; this was the moment he'd been waiting for. He pulled out his phone, tapping against the screen a few times, his eye contact wavering for only a brief moment before connecting back, much stronger than before.

"Two nights ago, I was cheated on a Meteor Gaming site." Trowa watched as the older man's eyes rolled to give the blond woman next to him a scoffing look, and Trowa felt his muscles tighten, not out of anxiety, but anger.

"The numbers speak for themselves. They fall well below the standard deviation. But if you don't care to take a look then you're more than welcome to hear about it when I expose the issue to the internet forums." Trowa began to suddenly feel at ease, finally in his element. This he could do, a little well-hinted blackmail, some numerical data, some charm and he'd suddenly transformed.

It was obvious that Duo had noticed the change as well, giving him an almost shocked glance, but keeping his mouth shut. He'd underestimated the tall stranger, obviously.

Treize leaned even farther forward now, his tailored jacket clad arms coming to rest on his knees. "Let me see these numbers." His voice was low and might have caused a nervous tremble had Trowa not gained his stride.

Trowa handed him the phone and watched as the man's eyes swept over the data he'd copied to the small device. They widened for a fraction of a second, but he saw it, even through the thin curtain of his bangs. He had him.

Treize handed the phone back. "You hacked into the system to get this data."

There was a brief moment where Trowa felt Duo's body move back and away from him before a strong and abnormally large hand had wrapped around his bicep, squeezing hard.

The bouncer tugged him several steps backwards and Trowa felt his mouth drop open, his eyes widening. How could he have been so ignorant?

A feral grin graced the lips of Treize Kushrenada. "I appreciate your time, sorry you have to be leaving so soon, Mr. Barton," he said and Trowa felt himself pulled back again, away from the circle of couches and watched as Treize fell back into the deep conversation he had previously interrupted.

He tried to fall in step with the incredibly muscular bouncer, but the bruising grip seemed to pull him along like a stumbling child. His eyes searched the crowd for that familiar braid, but Duo Maxwell had made his escape almost as smoothly as he'd made his arrival.

All Trowa could think about now was how desperately stupid it was to come to a nightclub fifty stories above a city with no civil law and try to hustle the best hustler in the business.

His body was shoved ahead of the bouncer now, his eyes following their dual trek towards the railing he'd been leaning against so casually earlier. He wondered if anyone would miss him and he couldn't think of anyone, but he figured Quatre would probably be pissed.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...in Chapter 3: Propositions...<em>


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